In this world, which place can I say is mine? Wherever I end up I’ll call it my inn.

Long voyages, great lies.

Don’t listen to what they say. Go see.

Who lives sees much. Who travels sees more.

Some roads aren’t meant to be traveled alone.

Only he that has traveled the road knows where the holes are deep.

The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians
And you, you are a thousand miles away
There are always two cups at my table.

There is no happiness for him who does not travel. Living in the society of men, the best man becomes a sinner. Therefore wander! The fortune of him who is sitting sits; it rises when he rises; it sleeps when he sleeps; it moves when he moves. Therefore wander!

Always go onward; returning to a favorite place you will only find your old footsteps washed away.

He who chooses his own path needs no map.

Cover the earth, before it covers you.

The fool wanders, the wise one travels.

Go far.
Stay long.
See deep.
And may the sun rise twice before you sleep.

Those for whom the end and motive of travel is the passage, who are fixed in a state of transience, are often marginal members of settled societies who have no single home, like the man on the road who appeared out of a hedge, unshaven and dirty, when asked where he was going said to and fro upon the face of the earth for every place was alike to him.

Wayfarer, keep looking back.

There was a song for goin’ to China and a song for goin’ to Japan, a song for the big island and a song for the smaller one. All she had to know was the song and she knew where she was. To get back she just sang the song in reverse. (Aleutian woman to Bruce Chatwin.)

It’s like the tides was pulling you along the highway. I’m like an Arctic tern, guv’nor. That’s a bird. A beautiful white bird what flies from the North Pole to the South Pole and back again. (Tramp to Bruce Chatwin.)

What can we do? We are born with the Great Unrest. Our father taught us that life is one long journey on which only the unfit are left behind. (Caribou Eskimo to Dr. Knud Rassmussen.)

There is no happiness for the man who does not travel. Living in the society of men, the best man becomes a sinner. For Indra is the friend of the traveler. Therefore wander!

Solvitur ambulando. (It is solved by walking)

He who does not travel does not know the value of men.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the places and moments that take our breath away.

No matter where you go, there you are.

The sun himself cannot forget his fellow traveler.